


these wandering crows and fox-faced creatures

by TheMidniteOwl



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Magic, Magic-Users, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMidniteOwl/pseuds/TheMidniteOwl
Summary: Someone’s tracking the Autobots. They come and go and leave them with gifts.(They call it repayment.)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 77





	1. The first of many strange Things

There was an itch in her exhaust pipe. Nothing came up on her sensors, nor did Cliffjumper find anything on his side of the city but something was _off_. Arcee’s holo reached over to fix the side mirrors as she tilted them around, attempting to find anything.

People walking. Businesses open. Barking dogs. A few birds cawed out.

“Excuse me, miss.” 

There was a small child behind her, she hadn’t even heard their steps.

The human boy beamed at her, a few teeth missing, which should’ve been endearing but his eyes turned jet black - a few crows then burst around Arcee and her holo, croaking madly before flying up to a building.

Those eyes were blue-grey and he chirped, pushing something towards the holo, “This is for you.”

But those hands were just empty-

:: _Arcee? Arcee!_ ::

“What?!” She gasped, the itch gone as well as the boy. :: _I’m here._ ::

:: _You cut off.::_ Cliffjumper’s worry bled through the coms. :: _You alright there, partner?_ ::

:: _I’m fine. Just a weird encounter with a native. Really weird. Nothing else._ ::

Nothing but black feathers on the ground and the package in her arms.

* * *

:: _Hey, Arcee._ :: Bumblebee hailed, still on bed rest from the recent skirmish with the Decepticons. :: _What you got there?_ ::

“You too?” Ratchet called out. He frowned at the package: cardboard and twine-bound and absolutely innocuous. He waved it over to his repurposed workplace. “Set it over here. I’m almost done with this one.”

“Who else?” Arcee felt uneasy; instead of dumping it elsewhere, she brought it back to the temporary base. Triple-checked with the deepest scans she could muster at that point, she was still twitchy over the fact she found a reason to even bring it back.

The insistent urge that something was there: _Don’t leave it._

That instinct rarely failed her; she made the choice to burn off more fuel to keep the holomatter in place, refusing to store it away in the subspace. Just in case.

“Optimus was stopped by someone. A worker at the facility was adamant that he missed a crate.” His frown twisted with distaste and worry. “He didn’t. It was a delivery for Leo Cullen.”

Leo Cullen. Optimus’ alias from the US government. An identity that very few select knew.

The scans ran clear -no dangerous chemicals, malicious triggers, or hidden tracking devices. Nothing. Just a crate carrying something inside. 

Ratchet pried it open and everyone gaped at the sight, packed to the brim were large cuts of familiar blue crystals. Raw energon.

There was a note taped inside, the writing was neat, a mix of cursive and print. It said, _For your troubles._

* * *

They reviewed the security cameras and found nothing. No records of the worker checking in or out of the facility.

The package the boy had given Arcee was filled with smaller bits of raw energon. The street cameras revealed nothing either.


	2. not quite sight-seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some members of Team Prime get new hobbies -some are more relaxing than others.

It wasn’t an isolated incident. The deliveries kept happening. Crates of raw energon in every few months.

The battered converter that Ratchet and Bulkhead managed to cobble together was constantly running rather than gathering dust in a corner until a mine raid or when they lucked out with an energon patrol.

The crates themselves were a mystery. There was the initial worry over Decepticons being able to pick up on the particular radiation from raw energon, especially with large deposits or recently cut crystals. But even under the most sensitive equipment, it read as a normal crate stuffed with mundane materials -it even hid unique signatures and energy discharge.

(The Autobots took full advantage of that.)

* * *

If Agent Fowler, dressed incognito and meeting Team Prime in various locations in the city, saw the Autobots’ holomatters more realistic and solid, their alt-modes a little less nicked and scratched, saw an increase of explosives in the reports, then he said nothing about it.

* * *

Ratchet had set up sensors along the perimeter and the doorways -a rudimentary system to ping when it caught movement. The only times the entrance was triggered it was due to a blasted raven, fluttering right by it since a whole flock of corvids converged right outside, hopping around another crate.

Perhaps it was paranoia, but some of them felt as if all of the birds were watching them closely, waiting, and only to disperse after an Autobot had taken the package inside.

* * *

“Weren’t you just outside?”

“I was.”

“You didn’t see anyone? At all?”

“No one. It was empty. The whole street was empty.”

* * *

The hidden cameras Ratchet installed never caught anyone. Right before a crate appeared on their figurative doorstep, something _always_ blocked the view: flying newspapers, animals either stealing the whole thing or resting against the lens, random sports equipment damage, passersby stopping at that particular angle, sudden weather changes, _those blasted corvids_.

(Every few months, Ratchet would mutter pure foulness as Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Cliffjumper exchanged goods and bet anew. Despite the constant surveillance, none of them had seen the woman from the facility nor the odd boy.)

* * *

“You know, I could get used to this,” Bulkhead said offhandedly and threw the baseball back to Cliffjumper.

“Don’t know, mech,” Cliffjumper drawled, tossing the ball in one hand as if testing its weight. “This doesn’t have the same _oomph_ like lobbing.”

“Naw,” Bulkhead raised a hand and caught the ball. “I meant having decent enough meals. Not just scrambling around for it.”

“Yeah.” Heavy silence between the two as they continued the game, then Cliffjumper grinned, blue eyes lighting up, “Y’know, Bulk? I think I can get used to this place with a wash-rack and some high-grade.”

“‘Jumper, you might as well as wish for a Kaonite strip bar.”

“With all the industrial equipment here. Close enough!”

Nearby the two mechs-in-holomatters bent over with howling laughter was a trio of crows watching the storage unit. The Autobots had gotten used to having a large presence of corvids and didn’t mind them too much. Odd. Creepy even but nothing untoward had happened. Bumblebee and Optimus had taken to feeding their constant visitors during downtime, coaxing the brave ones to eat from their holomatters’ hands.

Nestled the middle of the larger crows, the small one tilted its head. If anyone paid attention, it had blue-grey eyes.

* * *

Eventually, they had to leave to another temporary base, changing alt-modes was never enough to keep awareness off of them. Despite the cramped quarters where it couldn’t house the full team at once, low ceilings, and the inability to stay in root-mode for long periods of time, they left with great reluctance.

:: _Pity we can’t leave a note behind._ :: Cliffjumper weaved through the traffic, all of them heading towards the east coast. :: _Would be nice to strap it to a crow or something. It shouldn’t be too hard to catch since they basically watched us sleep._ ::

:: _You’re talking about carrier pigeons._ :: Bumblebee pulled ahead, the scout turning into the fast lane.

:: _Pigeons? Crows? Does it really matter?_ _All I’m saying, those birds hung off our rear bumpers. So those critters are smart enough to play messenger._ :: Cliffjumper changed gears and kicked it.

* * *

At the gutted storage unit, Optimus was the last to leave, he smiled at the remaining stragglers pecking their way through the pile of mixed seeds.

(Several blocks away, a mother and son finished their own packing and left the city. Heading east.)


	3. on corvids and familar faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nature of trickers, both helpful and confounding. (A hidden danger lurking...)

They settled well in the warehouse. It was built in the middle of a dense forest with trees tall enough to provide cover for root-mode without worrying about humans spotting them in a distance. The nearest city was almost an hour away just from the park entrance. 

Cell phone service didn’t work here and navigational devices failed just outside the gateway. Agent Fowler and a few members of his team had to meet up with each bot from Team Prime to guide them to the newest base, taking the little-used dirt paths with overgrowth and convoluted twists until they reached the concrete patio.

A few ravens actually managed to follow Optimus. They immediately croaked at his windshield, hopping around the hood as he came to a stop. Leo Cullen materialized a few feet away from the rig and scattered seeds on the ground and they barked happily at the offerings.

* * *

Arcee and Bulkhead were the first to arrive at that location. The wind slammed doors open and rattled the windows and garage. It was a relatively old building, the rusty parts were changed and the doors and windows were reinforced…

But it was too quiet. No sounds from the outside. No birds. No insects. No critters running over the ground or trees. 

Nothing.

Arcee didn’t sleep during those first few nights. The itch a full buzz along her backstrut, refusing to leave her to rest. She kept a good watch on the cameras and the perimeter sensors.

There was nothing.

Bulkhead had set up a berth and woke up to see something dark staring through the windows along the suspended second floor. When he blinked, it was gone. In the morning when he went out to recheck the walls, it was the same. The metal was too smooth for a human to get a decent grip to haul themselves up. Much less  _ quietly _ . No added climbing gear. No hidden or pop out stairwell to climb up.

When Arcee found nothing during surveillance, he dropped it as a recharge blur.

(He slept on his other side, pointedly away from those windows, and it was fine.)

* * *

Nearly a week later, the birds raised a racket loud enough to startle Arcee out of recharge. Outside and nestled under an old flagpole was a familiar crate.

There were a few additions to its typical cut energon crystals but the ravens swooped in and snatched away the shiny, little bits and flew off, laughing.

(The buzzing that hounded her slowly dissipated after that day.)

* * *

Bumblebee tossed a handful of sunflower seeds to the persistent pair of ravens. One chittered eagerly as the other squawked in thanks. They hopped about, devouring the spread.

“Gluttons, aren’t they?” Cliffjumper chuckled, resting under the shade of a tree. The cowboy hat on his stomach and hands folded beneath his head, eyes closed.

“Hello.” A boy carrying a brown bag with a bright, yellow  _ M  _ printed on it. A few crows flew over and hopped on the grass to where he sat down.

Was the kid always there?

“They like peanuts and sunny seeds.” Head tilted in such a bird-like manner. “I like giving them french fries. Mama said it’s bad for them.” He leaned forward and said in a stage-whisper, “I give it as a treat because treats are good. But only in mo-der-at-ion.”

Cliffjumper cracked open an eye, smiling at the pronunciation. “Not bad, kid.”

He beamed. Kicking his feet out, he opened up the bag and the growing flock of crows and ravens began to excitedly flap and caw as a few handfuls of fries were tossed.

Time passed easily, they listened to him chatter and giggle at the ravens. Bumblebee closed his eyes and it became quiet when he opened them, the boy was gone.

* * *

“Oh, aren’t they little troublemakers,” the bookkeeper said with such fondness, holding out a handful of peanuts. One of the ravens that followed Optimus’ holomatter swooped inside and settled on her forearm, chittering before taking one and leaving. She left the rest out on the table outside and others went after the treats.

Optimus chuckled at their antics, “Some of my crew are delighted. Others, not so much.”

“Corvids can be nosy  _ and  _ noisy.” She quipped as she rang up and packed away his purchases. Books on birdwatching and bird care, history of the town and the forest the Autobots currently reside in, old children's tales for a boy's sing-song rhymes, some medical texts for Ratchet, a few classics and fantasy novels. “They love shiny things and will steal them away if you’re not careful.”

* * *

The convertor broke down in sparking, rattling death. Smoke puttered out of the machine and it wheezed to a grinding stop. Ratchet stripped it apart, muttering about inefficient and inferior gears from wretched human resources and foul things about the humidity here. 

He frowned, typing over the half-set computer, cross-referencing what could be replaced with human-made parts until they could afford a trip to the  _ Ark  _ and what had to be fixed immediately. There was shouting outside and one of Agent Fowler’s subordinates came bursting through the doorway as corvids flew in and went straight for the hefty bags of birdseed by the storage. 

When the mess was cleaned and the man delivered the documents and left the premises, some of the parts were missing -the irreplaceable ones.

* * *

(An old bookkeeper with laugh lines etched in her face and kind, green eyes told Leo Cullen that corvids remember kindness and cruelty.)

A day later after the theft, a crate arrived, and inside were the parts to the converter as if they were fresh off the manufacturing belt -attached was a note: _A little bird told me your troubles._


	4. this forest is dark and deep (it's filled with ghosts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things happen. (This forest has a history...)

In another universe, the Autobots would have remained in this secluded warehouse for years. This would have been the last temporary base before settling into the converted missile silo in the middle of Nevada that would serve as Autobot Central Command. The dense forests provided aerial coverage and the warehouse was situated far enough from the nearby city for them to stretch out their legs and walk around.

In this universe, they barely lasted eight months.

* * *

Whenever Agent Fowler or one of his members had to meet up with the Autobots. It was usually done in the nearby city or at the parkway entrance diner. Very rarely would they go into the forest properly unless it was absolutely necessary.

If they must, they always used the same path with its strange twists and dips. Bumblebee once attempted to mark a different, less-time consuming path to the warehouse and was lost for a few days. He heard barking and followed it to find a circling pair of ravens. They easily led him back to the base. He bought those birds french fries every time he went to the city.

(No one was able to hail him. Just constant static. Bumblebee’s biosignature kept popping all over the map, the system glitching since he would appear to be five miles south of the base before turning up twenty miles west.)

* * *

The thing about the forest that the Autobots reside in, it had a long history.

(They were reasons why people stay away from it.)

* * *

“You need to keep an eye on your boy.”

Cliffjumper tilted his hat to see an old woman right in front of them, her arms full of groceries. Bumblebee made a questioning noise as crows hopped over the grass. “Pardon?”

“You’ve got a boy. I’ve seen him around you two. That dog’s not enough for him, especially if you’re working out _there_.”

A harsh emphasis on the last word, they knew what she meant. 

The silence stretched, pulled tautly, and the crows began to hiss and caw at her. Wings fluttering in agitation and it pulled in the local birds - a murder gathered around them.

She watched the circling crows carefully and with a sharp inhale, lips pressed in a thin, shaky line, and aged hands tightened over her bags. She croaked out, words underlined with old grief, “Never take your eyes off of him in that place. _Never_.”

She walked away, cutting down the paved walkway and didn’t look back.

* * *

Abigail Jones was born and raised in this city where the trees watched them all. On a dare, her older brother took his three younger siblings to the forest. He only came back with two.

(All children were warned about the forest. That it will eat them. Not everyone listened.)

Oh, she still remembered the faceless man, the blurry man, even decades later. He took her and Billy’s hand in his own and was going to show them a garden hidden inside. Abigail only pulled away because she heard her name being called desperately over and over. When she looked back, Billy and the blurry man were gone. 

Not even Blackie could find him.

(The forest was quiet. So very quiet. As if all the sound was gone.)

* * *

:: _I never saw a dog with the kid. Just the birds._ ::

"Same. Just crows and ravens."

(Arcee never seen one with her encounter with the boy either.)

* * *

Strange things were happening at the base, more like outside its perimeter. Little things. 

Sensors were increasingly tripping for no discernable reason as they drove to and from the base as if someone was constantly tailing them. Trees began to topple near the patio, _always_ toward the patio -the bark healthy but the heartwood had rotted out. The corvids began to linger longer and longer around them. They still ate the treats the Autobots left out and quite a few still flew over to Bumblebee and Optimus, but several stood back and watched the treeline as the others feasted.

* * *

In the books Optimus bought, there were a few sections with bright bookmarks that highlighted the history of the city and its infamous forest - named after a notorious case in the 17th century that sentenced a whole family to hang for witchcraft due to the disappearances of local children. 

Many things happened in Shepherd’s Forest since then. Primary sources and local folklore had attributed it to the middle Shepherd daughter who cursed the whole area before her execution.

Written on the bookmark in neat, blocky print: _Take it with a grain of salt. Those disappearances had been happening long before that family settled there._

* * *

Before the park was sealed off to the public, these were a few of the warnings at the information booth at the parkway entrance:

 **Don’t** stray from the known pathways.

Go in a group. **Never** alone.

Always watch your children. **Always.**

(Not everyone listened. Not all the bodies turned up, especially the little ones’.)

* * *

:: _There's no kids around us._ :: Bumblebee commented, feeding a crow perched on his bent leg. It chittered happily over each peanut. The others working their way into the sunflower seed pile on the grass.

“Sure there are. I mean,” Cliffjumper casually waved at the elementary school across the park, children tumbling over the playground. “Literally right in front of us. Your sensors off or something?”

:: _No. Near the base._ ::

“Yeah, that’s because it’s closed off. Besides, fewer humans mean we got more time to stretch around.”

:: _I meant, the lack of it. There are no abandoned activities or recreational centers. Not even the remains of a camping ground between here and the warehouse. Let alone within the whole park. I checked. It’s like they were never built._ ::

Unease prickled over Cliffjumper’s arms and neck, goosebumps a strange feeling within a human holomatter. He chuckled, strained and half-hearted. “I think those words are getting to you. It's just ghost stories and folktales. Nothing else.”

The crows flew off, scattering cracked peanuts, sunflower seed shells, and loose feathers.

(The boy hadn’t come that day.)

* * *

Shepherd's Forest dominated the local folklore, its roots deeply entrenched in the nearby city. There were stories featuring spectral hounds lingering where witches were buried as well as the friendly Blackie leading a lost traveler back to the trails or to a missing person's body.

It was said that Blackie was once a real dog that kept searching for his owner even after death. Locals came to the diner to fill Blackie's food bowl in gratitude or leave a loved one's photo and something of theirs near the entrance.

(When Bumblebee heard of the practice, he bought some chicken and left it there -there was a difference between the initial barking and the ravens'.)

* * *

“Your friend’s very lucky,” commented one of the park rangers at the diner.

“Oh, why’s that?”

“Didn’t they tell you? People disappear in the forest when they go off the road.”

* * *

The crate came on its usual schedule but this time the ever-growing horde of blackbirds remained when it was taken inside, all of them watching the treeline.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been stewing for awhile.


End file.
